


the coronation

by bowlingfornerds



Category: The 100
Genre: Alternative Setting - Modern Setting, Bartender!Bellamy, CEO! Clarke, F/M, Wells is alive and that's what matters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-15
Updated: 2015-11-15
Packaged: 2018-05-01 20:08:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5219138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bowlingfornerds/pseuds/bowlingfornerds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke has taken over Griffin Inc. when her father passes away, and her life is focused on work for a long time after. But, then her friends persuade her to go out, and well, there's a hot bartender - so there's not much she can do to say no.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the coronation

**Author's Note:**

> I was going to post this tomorrow, but whatever, it's finished now. Enjoy.

_The King is Dead_ – that was the headline of the newspaper Clarke found on the kitchen table the day after her father died. There was an article, depicting his fight against cancer and the confusion surrounding his doctor of a wife, somehow not signing him up for a lot of different trials. But Clarke knew that Jake Griffin didn’t want a single one of them; he didn’t want to be subjected to needles and losing his hair all over again. Clarke only cried about that every night.

Raven, her roommate, sent her an apologetic look as she passed her to get to the kettle. “How bad is it?” She asked, flicking a switch – the kettle started boiling slowly on the counter.

“Not that bad,” Clarke murmured in response, reaching the end of the article, where they questioned who would be taking the reins of Griffin Inc., the scientific development and mechanical engineering company her father had started twenty-something years beforehand.

Raven made her way over, wrapping her arms around the blonde’s figure. She ducked her head onto Clarke’s shoulder, pressing a quick kiss there for comfort. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired,” Clarke sighed in response.

“Did you sleep last night?”

“No.” Raven didn’t say any more, just waited there, reading the paper over her roommate’s shoulder until the kettle boiled and she went to find the coffee jar.

“I assume you’re not coming out with us tonight,” Raven said as she poured the boiling water into her mug. Clarke shrugged.

“I wouldn’t think so,” she replied.

“Well, whenever you’re ready – we’ll be waiting.” She picked up her mug and started heading for the living room. “And then I’ll introduce you to the hot bartender.”

-

The funeral was a week and a half later, and four days after that Clarke was officially instated as the Head CEO of Griffin Inc. She called in Wells, her childhood best friend-turned lawyer to look over her contracts, and decided to go about being in charge logically. She was twenty five with a Fine Art degree under her belt – not science, like her parents had hoped. She knew very little about what was going on here, and had focused the past few years of her life being a children’s book illustrator, not preparing to head up a multi-million dollar company.

Even so, she called in every head of section, and had them run through what they were doing. Then, when Wells had looked over the contract, she made herself familiar with it to (keeping a cheat sheet copy in her desk drawer) so she would know that she had majority vote on all matters involving the company, and that she also couldn’t be voted out of ownership – this was her company now. She owned it and her mother might have been on the board of directors, but _Clarke_ was the one Jake left it to.

She forced herself to focus on work, preferring it to the moments she would be alone with her thoughts and had to admit that her father was gone.

Clarke didn’t sleep much, either, and caked on the foundation in the morning to hide the dark rings around her eyes.

“You should get out,” Wells noted, sitting on her desk while she looked over the masses of emails she received each morning.

“Is this you kicking me out of my own company?” She replied dryly with a raised eyebrow. Wells scoffed, rolling his eyes. He pushed himself away from the desk, wandering around her office with a wall of windows and perfectly painted walls. He stood by a wall of photos, looking at them instead of her as he continued.

“I meant you should get out and _do_ something,” he corrected.

“I’m running a company,” Clarke retorted. “I don’t have time for nightclubbing.” Wells laughed, turning briefly to glance at her.

“You never went nightclubbing when you _did_ have the time.” Clarke ignored him, tapping out a response to a Level 5 employee. “Seriously, Clarke.” Wells was in front of her again and she sighed. “I think it would be good for you – it’s been two months since Jake died.”

“I’m aware,” she replied in a clipped tone. Wells moved around her desk to stand next to her; he wrapped his arm around her shoulders and she let herself be pulled into the half-hug.

“You know what I meant.” Clarke nodded reluctantly.

“I do,” she agreed.

“We could go to the Drop Ship – you’ve never been there, and Raven’s been talking you up to the bartender every week.” Clarke raised her eyebrows.

“The hot one?”

“Nothing less for our Clarke,” he smiled. She rolled her eyes as he pulled away, and leant back in her chair, spinning it a little as she thought it over. _She really hadn’t been out with her friends in a long time…_

“Fine,” she relented, Wells grinning suddenly. “Two drinks and then I’ve got to get back to work.”

-

Raven insisted on dressing her. Clarke insisted otherwise.

It wasn’t that Raven had a bad taste in clothes – because she didn’t – but Clarke was in the public eye; she couldn’t wear anything that would lower her reputation. As a woman, just her clothes could destroy how people viewed her, so Clarke threw the tiny, slinky dress that Raven chucked her way back at her roommate with a laugh.

“Not even if I were dead,” she said.

Clarke’s dress ended up being cream and floral; a tight torso, flaring at the waist with her skirt reaching her knees. Her sleeves reached her elbows and Clarke noticed that she hadn’t felt this good in her clothes in a long time – the formal attire she wore for work just wasn’t cutting it in her mind.

Raven still nodded approvingly when she saw her, and the two waited in their apartment until Jasper sent up a text to say that they were outside. The five seat car was already three seats taken when they emerged from their building; with Jasper and Monty in the front, and Wells taking a back seat. Clarke made Raven get in first, claiming it was payback for making her go out – having to sit in the middle seat – but really it was because Clarke was a good friend and she always noticed the looks Wells would send in her friend’s direction.

The Drop Ship had a bouncer – it was _that_ popular. It wasn’t a nightclub, as she’d hoped, but a bar with music that wasn’t deafening and a slight queue to get in. They waited it out for a minute or two before Clarke sighed.

“I am not spending my one night out standing out here,” she told her friends. She didn’t care for their protests of them waiting outside every week to get indoors; she just nodded for them to follow her as she strode down the pavement towards the bouncer. It was easy from there: Clarke handed him a few notes and a pointed look, and he nodded them right in.

“Why don’t we do that every week?” Jasper asked in awe as they headed for the coat check.

“Because we’re not rich like Clarke,” Monty replied dryly.

“Jaha is,” Raven argued. “He’s _richer_.”

“Why don’t you bribe the bouncer for us?” Jasper pouted. Wells rolled his eyes, handing over his coat and getting a token in response.

“Because we never stand outside for more than five minutes, and unlike _somebody_ -“ he hip-checked Clarke “-I have some patience.” Clarke rolled her eyes, walking with the group into the bar.

It wasn’t overly crowded, and there were enough spare seats that it made her wonder if the people waiting outside was just to promote some sense of eagerness; like it was always sold out and they would then desperately want to get inside. People danced on the dance floor, and some sat in their chairs, talking and laughing. It seemed like a generally nice place, so Clarke followed Raven towards the bar with their friends in tow.

“That’s him,” Raven told her as she leant against the glass of the counter. Clarke leant beside her, following her roommate’s gaze towards the bartender at the end. He was handsome, she noted immediately – knowing that her friends hadn’t been lying. He had dark, ruffled hair, with what seemed to be perpetually tanned skin. He was tall, muscular enough to look as if he worked out, and Clarke found herself staring for just a little too long.

Raven ordered and Clarke directed her gaze to the beautiful brunette in front of them. “So who’s this?” She asked with a smile, nodding towards Clarke. “You’ve never joined this lot before.” Clarke nodded.

“They finally won,” she agreed. The girl placed five shot glasses on the counter, and filled them one by one with a clear liquid. “Clarke,” she introduced. The girl’s eyes flashed with recognition before she looked back to the drinks.

“Octavia,” she replied. When she looked up, she turned to Raven. “This is her then?” Raven grinned, leaning forward and taking a shot glass.

“The very same,” Raven nodded. They each downed their shots and Clarke didn’t even wince at the alcohol burning her throat. “Come on!” Raven grabbed her hand and Clarke had just enough time to place the shot glass back on the bar before she was being pulled out onto the dance floor. It was only a moment later when the rest of her friends joined them, and she shut her eyes, grinning and dancing; spinning, jumping, ignoring the pain her heels were causing to her feet.

The dance floor smelt like sweat but she didn’t care; letting her hair fly about her shoulders when she turned; her hands joining with Raven’s, then Jasper’s, then a stranger’s, then Monty’s. She felt the music in her skull; pumping through her body and boiling her blood; everything was toned with purple when she opened her eyes – the lights flashed and she found herself feeling the music under the skin, the beat in her veins and the sight of Raven spinning, laughing, her feet now bare, in her bones.

When Clarke grew tired, she stumbled back to the bar, climbing onto a stool and waiting to be served. She saw Octavia notice her, but the girl didn’t come over – instead, she bumped her hip into the other bartender, and said something quietly before nodding in her direction. Clarke looked away; to the mirrors on the ceiling and the spinning bodies behind her.

The handsome bartender wandered over, a rag in his hand and his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Now he was closer, Clarke noticed how dark his eyes were and the faint freckles that danced across the bridge of his nose.

“What can I get you?” She rattled off her order of a Jack and Coke like it was second nature, and it was presented to her only a moment later. “So,” he said, leaning across the bar. “Are you the mysterious Clarke that your friends have told me so much about?” She smiled, raising her eyebrows before sipping at her drink.

“I hope they’re saying only good things,” she replied.

“The best,” he promised. “I’m Bellamy – bartender extraordinaire.”

“Clarke – semi-decent businesswoman.” They shook hands over the bar, matching smiles and challenging looks, daring the other to make the first move. She found out that he was lying about his job description – or, at least, undervaluing himself – seeing as he owned the Drop Ship, but then again, she had shrugged and admitted that she owned a company, too.

Eventually, when her friends returned, Octavia – Bellamy’s sister, it turned out – served them, as not to disrupt the conversation she was becoming invested in (okay, sue her, it was a conversation regarding Zeus’ sexual exploits – but who could blame her, Raven had no interest in the subject and Bellamy was more than happy to talk it through). By the end of the night, their numbers were in each other’s phones and she was more than a little tipsy.

“I’m so not getting any work done tonight,” she smiled, pushing herself away from her stool. Bellamy held her upright as they left, following her friends to the car.

“I wouldn’t see that as a bad thing,” he replied. “I heard you work yourself too hard as it is.” She pouted, looking up at him.

“You shouldn’t listen to hearsay,” Clarke nodded. “You should take all your information about me from the source.” Bellamy grinned down at her as they walked out the door and into the cold, fresh air of the night.

“Clarke, as the source, do you think you work too hard?” She pursed her lips before nodding.

“Oh, yes, definitely.” Bellamy chuckled and she felt the vibrations throughout her entire body. They stopped by the car as Wells struggled to get Jasper inside, and turned towards each other. “I could use some fun,” she admitted. Bellamy smirked down at her.

“I’ve been told that I’m quite fun,” he replied. She rolled her eyes.

“That’s not from the source,” she shook her head. “Do you think you’re fun?” He tilted his head down to her, and she looked up, defiantly. They were close, she noticed suddenly, belatedly; the tips of his hair brushed against her forehead and he paused, his hands drifting up to her neck.

“I am the most fun,” he said lowly, before his lips met hers, so gently they were barely touching. His lips ghosted over hers before she pushed upwards, her fingers tangling in his t-shirt and her mouth firm against his. She smiled into it, relishing in his touch against her skin and the hums of approval that he made.

When they pulled apart, he helped her into the car, promising to call her. She grinned and turned around as Wells pulled out onto the road; watching him until he disappeared from sight.

-

 _The Queen Has A New King?_ – The headline of the newspaper on her kitchen table read only a week later. Clarke raised her eyebrows at the title and sighed, leaning back into Bellamy’s bare chest as he wrapped his arms around her body.

“At least I’m finally royalty,” he joked, and Clarke didn’t mind about what the article said all that much.

**Author's Note:**

> THANKS FOR READING.  
> I have had MASSIVE writers block since I hit 50 fics, and then it was just motivation and inspiration block. So I forced myself through this, and here I am, actually posting. Please remember to tell me what you think in the comments - reviews are always welcome and I love to find out what you guys think. Kudos are appreciated also.


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